


in your afternoons and evening from here on out

by ChopLogic



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Coming To Terms With The Gay Feels, Dorks in Love, Fluff and Smut, Friends to Lovers, Hanzo Can't Believe He's in Love With Said Dork, Inappropriate Application of Banjo Picking Styles on a Shamisen, M/M, McCree Is A Dork, Post "Dragons" Short, Slow Burn, they're both dorks
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-06-13
Updated: 2016-06-13
Packaged: 2018-07-14 19:13:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,720
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7186676
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChopLogic/pseuds/ChopLogic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Shimada clan may of fallen, but there were families on the fringes eager to pick up after them, <br/>Hanzo and McCree are sent to Japan to monitor the situation from Hanamura castle and relay intel.</p><p>In the bones of a dead family, a new life grows.</p>
            </blockquote>





	in your afternoons and evening from here on out

"So this is _casa_ Shimada huh?" McCree dropped his rucksack, glinting metal hand slipping out from under his serape to flick the brim of his hat up, admiring the great double-doored wood gate emblazoned with two dragons swallowing up the other's tail. The day was hot and the humidity was cloying, if it weren't for McCree's time spent in New Mexico breathing air as thick as soup with an angry sun beating down he might of complained some. 

"It is, could you help me with this?" Hanzo was already standing by the right door, leaning his shoulder against it as the pronged toes of his prosthetics scrabbled for purchase on the cobbled street. "I swear these gates used to swing freely when I was a boy," he grunted and tossed his shoulder against it again, "Barely had to push to open them," McCree sniffed, twirling the toothpick between his lips as he stepped over to the straining archer, spurs jingling quietly.

"Y'sure it ain't a pull door?" He grinned as his fingers settled on the weathered board-handle, Hanzo shot him a glare over his shoulder before mimicking the southerner's stance. They pushed together, the door groaning like a great beast as it opened. "Do we need t'open the thing all th'way?" McCree huffed, blowing a stray strand of hair off his nose. 

"No just enough to slip in, no need to open the grounds for the public to wander into," Hanzo's grip changed on the handle, grounding himself to stop the gate once it was open enough. McCree followed suit, the gate's hinge complaining again as it stilled. The assassin tugged at his top, double checking his tattoo was covered while they stood in the street. If anyone knew the heir of the Shimada family had returned there would be trouble.

"How'd y'get in that time you met your brother?" McCree rubbed his hands together, brushing leather glove against steel palm as he stepped back from the door.

"I scaled the wall," Hanzo replied with a grin, "Perhaps not the best route to take when we have so many bags to carry," McCree chuckled, shaking his head as he turned on his heel with a jingle to go get the bags, muttering something about _augmented cyborg ninja bullroar_.

As the taller man struggled to pick up all the bags Hanzo stepped into the courtyard. The late afternoon sun cast long shadows, cool shade reaching from the bottom of the red roofed buildings while a soft breeze carried the scent of cherry blossoms. He tilted his face to the sun, letting his eyes slide closed. For a moment Hanzo Shimada was eighteen years old.

_The soft breeze toyed with his long hair and caressed his clean shaven face as maids greeted him home. His father would faint if he saw the coiling blue dragon freshly tattooed onto his arm but his younger brother Genji was sure to be more appreciative. He opened his eyes and looked to the rooftops of the Shimada estate, waiting to see a flash of white hakama and a shock of green hair bound over the red tiles to greet him. Hanzo waited, where was he?_

Where did Genji go?

_The moon was full, pale light barely illuminating the face beneath the brow of the silver helm. Hanzo's heart thudded against his ribs like an animal trying to escape a cage. His brother, now more scar tissue and machinery than man, back from the dead._

_Oh._

McCree whistled low by the archer's side, drawing him from the memory. The shorter man blinked, banishing the threat of tears before he looked over. McCree had managed to wrangle all the bags, both of their rolling cases and their two satchels worn on his front and back.

"Mighty fine place, mightier shame it ain't cared for," the gunslinger was right; weeds grew through the cracks of the cobbled courtyard, the great brass bell in the gazebo had rust blooming in its intricate patterns. It was a disgrace Hanzo had brought to bear on the family after turning his back on the Shimada legacy. McCree bumped shoulders with assassin, smiling softly. "Come on, let's set up shop and you can give me the grand tour," with a nod he walked ahead, hanging a right into a second courtyard.

"Bring the guns will ya? I don't have eight arms like that Zenyatta guy," he shouted over his shoulder.

\--- 

They set their bags in a long room just off from the main hall. Jesse ridded himself of his serape and chestplate while Hanzo carefully folded down his sleeve to reveal his tattoo. He traced over the head of the dragon inked atop his wrist, lost in thought. He was home, but it didn't feel like he was. It was as if he were merely playing the part of Hanzo Shimada, simply passing through the motions instead of making them himself. He was doing what Genji wanted him to; he was starting where he left off and choosing a new path, but why did it feel so empty?

"If you keep making that glum face it's gonna stick that way _amigo_ ," 

The archer turned to regard the cowboy, mismatched hands carefully buckling Peacemaker to his hip. McCree offered a smile and motioned with his head. "I've never been in a fancy castle before, show me around?" Hanzo allowed a smile to tweak his lips as he padded over, feet silent on the tatami mats.

"Of course, however you must take off your shoes, place them by the door," The gunslinger toed off his boots with a quirked brow and set them by the door.

"No boots inside?" Hanzo nodded in reply, "Mighty weird t'me, then again betcha don't have to worry about snakes taking up residence in the night," McCree grinned, toothpick flicking.

"Another rule, no smoking inside, but I'm sure that one was a given," the assassin glided past, beckoning the other man to follow. They walked down into the great hall once more, the shorter man noted the offering for his brother still sat in front of his dented sword and slashed wall scroll. Onto other matters first, he'd clean up later.

"Who's sword is that?" It appeared Jesse was not so quick to move onto new topics.

"It was mine,"

"Was? Why don't'chu carry it anymore?" McCree placed his hat further back on his head, cocking a brow at Hanzo. The archer chewed the inside of his cheek as his gut flopped, hands clenching tightly by his sides to steady himself against the wave of anguish that threatened to bowl him over.

"I'll tell you another time," He turned sharply on his silver heels and made off down a hall, leaving the cowboy to either follow or be left behind. The taller man decided to follow instead of pressing the question. "Behind the hall is a training room, rather bare bones compared to what we have at the Gibraltar base, but then again an assassin must make do with what little he has in any situation to avoid detection," Hanzo glanced over his shoulder, gauging McCree's reaction ey entered the room, watching as his earth-brown eyes traced over the lanterns hung above the lowered section of the floor.

"It's a lovely space Shimada," the taller man's low voice echoed off the walls a little. He slipped past Hanzo to inspect the room more closely, the assassin watched as he rapped his steel knuckles against the lantern post, trail his fingers over the tops of the benches by the far wall, and then amble over to the orange and purple short haori jacket was draped on it's stand. 

Hanzo took the other way around the lowered floor, familiarizing himself with the space once more before he took a spot by McCree's side and looked over the haori himself.

"It belonged to my father," 

"Hm? Oh the jacket? It's nice," a pause, "Think I could get me one of those to wear while I'm here?" Hanzo glanced at McCree, expecting to see a joking grin on his face, instead McCree's face was sincere, dark eyes still focused on the haori.

"I think we could find you something," A little warm feeling bloomed in Hanzo's chest, he feigned scratching an itch in an attempt to quell it, "It would help you blend in too, and considering this is a rather covert operation it would work to our advantage," McCree chuckled lightly, the low rolling sound hanging in the still dojo air.

"What, spurs an' serape too southern or somethin'?" A soft breath puffed out of Hanzo's nose, a very restrained version of a laugh. "I'll wear a jacket for sure," McCree hitched his thumbs into his belt, turning his head to smile at the archer, "But if you think for a moment I'm gonna put my hair back in a ribbon all fancy like yours, you're way wrong hombre," Hanzo allowed himself a soft smile in reply.

\---

They toured the rest of the rooms and halls, most of which stood empty and seemingly without purpose. McCree looked them all over solemnly, sometimes asking after the meaning of wall scrolls or complimenting the architecture. The shorter man had a sense he was trying to apologise for his earlier questions without bringing attention to the topic again.

Hanzo took his quiet demeanour in stride and explained how a drawing room differed from a meeting room and the subtle meanings in the ink and paper of the calligraphy that hung on the walls. He couldn't bring himself to speak about his sword just yet, but he could explain other parts of his heritage to the wide-eyed gunslinger.

Eventually they had exhausted all the empty rooms, McCree's mind now full of japanese terms. His stomach on the other hand made a weak growling noise and the cowboy sheepishly pressed a hand to his gut.

"Didn't eat much on the plane ride over,"

"Mm, understandable," Even on Japan Air, airline food was terrible.

"There was that ramen shop we passed on the way in, the one with the green thing on it, we could go there?" Rikimaru ramen had been Hanzo's favourite ramen shop for years leading up to his father's death, Genji always knew when he was there and had made it his personal goal to wheedle a bowl out of his brother's wallet every time they visited the shop.

They would recognise him in a heartbeat.

"Perhaps, they do takeout as well if you'd prefer to eat here," Hanzo silently hoped the cowboy would agree to eat at Hanamura, the more time they were in the public eye the greater chance someone would take note of Hanzo's tattoo and stir up all sorts of problems. THe archer made off towards their shared room, beckoning McCree to follow.

"Takeout sounds good," replied McCree from behind him, then a pause, "What about breakfast tomorrow, can't be eating noodles and soup for every meal of the day,"

"There's a combini, a convenience store, just around the corner," he slid the door open and stepped to his suitcase, kneeling in front of it and reaching for the zippers to open it. "We'd best change into civilian attire, if you thought getting the permits to take Peacemaker overseas was difficult, the open carry permits were tougher still,"

"I thought we didn't get any open carry permits?" McCree shuffled behind him, crouching to open his own suitcase.

"Exactly," With his back turned, Hanzo grinned unabashedly. He wiped the smirk away as he heard the tatami creak when McCree turned to fix a cocked brow at him.

"Do my ears deceive me or was that a joke?" mirth edged his gravely voice, Hanzo made no comment.

\---

The gunslinger opted for a more present-day outfit; faded dark red tshirt tucked at the waist into jeans, toes of his spur-less boots sticking out from the hem of the blue denim, and his hat tilted to show off more of his face. Hanzo on the other hand felt more himself in a blue-grey yukata, rolling clouds printed here and there on the fabric and Purse tied to his side on his obi. They walked through the grounds to the gate once more, neither commenting on the twitch of McCree's hand as he tried to close his fingers over the butt of his revolver, or how stiff Hanzo carried himself like at any moment he had to flee. 

"We have got to find an easier way to do this," the cowboy whined as they pulled the gate shut, "Ain't no way we can shove this thing open with ramen and snacks in hand,"

"Then we will simply have to set our food down when we open it," the archer shot back. There was something easy about McCree, something that settled the weak flutter of nervousness in the assassin's gut yet at the same time made it worse. He could feel the gunslinger's dark eyes watch him from behind, following just a little behind as Hanzo led them down the street like he was keeping watch.

A glance over the archer's shoulder sent the southerner's gaze skittering away; up to the street lamps that flicked on overhead, over to the vending machines that sat in orderly rows on the thin sidewalk, to the worn pavement they walked upon. Hanzo faced forward again, warmth rising in his chest as his stomach fluttered. 

"Here, get us two orders of shoyu ramen, I'll go to the combini and meet you back here," Nimble fingers opened the pouch at his waist and fished out a few yen notes, folding them into the gunslinger's metal palm.

"Not going to help out your poor foreigner friend decode the menu?" His hand still closed around the bills, pocketing them as he stepped around Hanzo in the direction of the ramen shop.

"I'm sure you'll manage fine without me. What kind of coffee do you drink? Black?" He deflected the question with ease, distracting the cowboy from pressing the question.

"Black as can be, but shouldn't we get that in the morning when it's hot?"

"No need, you obviously haven't had can coffee before," a little smile plucked the corner of Hanzo's lips. McCree shrugged.

"Excuse me for not visiting your hometown previously Shimada," he replied dryly, eyes bright with unused laughter as Hanzo's guts rolled over. With two quick steps he was pressed right close to the outlaw's chest, finger jabbing into his chest and a hard grey gaze piercing McCree.

"Do not use my family name here," he hissed his words, a sharp whisper that cut like knives. "The residents of Hanamura only know the violence of the Shimada clan, it is not a name to be used lightly or publically," the taller man put his hands up and rocked back on his heels, mouth a tense line and brows a little higher 

"Got it, first name basis only," he lowered his hands and stepped back towards the short curtain in the doorway of Rikimaru ramen. "I'll meet you back here in a jiffy," he spoke over his shoulder, then he ducked into the shop and left the archer alone in the street. He checked himself over; pulling his obi tighter and plucking the collar of his yukata over his chest to hide his tattoo, little motions that steadied him, grounded him before the nervous energy that sat high in his chest could carry him away.

Metal feet clipped on the pavement as he rounded the corner to the convenience store, head on swivel for people who may recognise him. The night was warm, muggy even, but Hanzo didn't see a soul on their balcony or out in the street which both soothed his growing fear and made it all the worse. He breezed through the automated doors, smiling softly at the electronic female voice that greeted him before turning and nodding towards the cashier. The girl nodded back with a smile, too young to know who he was or the ruin his family had wrought. 

The coolers along the back wall were filled with drinks, the archer stopped there first after taking a basket. Fruit juices, green teas, soda drinks, and coffees of all kinds sat in neat rows. He took two peach nectars, four black can coffees, and a tea for himself. As the cooler door closed the archer caught sight of an older man standing behind him, eyes narrowed as they traced up the long hair tie that hung down his back. Hanzo didn't dare move for fear of showing his face, he pretended to look over names on bottles, eyes flicking to the reflection every now and again. Happily, the cashier drew his attention and sent him on his way, leaving the archer alone in the store once more.

With a steadying breath he moved on to the food aisles, flinty eyes tracing over the candy bars and sweet buns. Perhaps the older gentleman wasn't used to seeing people out in yukata, or men with long hair that they kept in high knots. No reason to overthink it, no reason to panic. The archer's eyes flicked over wrapper names, searching for a point to anchor himself on. No reason to overthink it, no reason to panic. The gentleman had probably forgotten about him by now, no reason to worry, no reason no _reason no reason **no**_ -

"Hanzo?" The archer whipped his head around, long bang flicking after him. McCree stood in the aisle, brows pulled together softly with his right hand out, palm down towards Hanzo. A plastic bag emblazoned with the green alien of Rikimaru ramen was gripped in his left, already finished at the ramen shop. He had probably been waiting for a while to come looking for him.

"I'm fine, just fine," The assassin replied quickly but his voice still wavered some. "I apologise for taking so long, I didn't intend to leave you waiting," The gunslinger's hand lowered but his brows were still drawn together with worry. 

"Alright, if you say so," his gaze lingered for a moment more before he turned to the buns and sweets as well. Wordlessly he picked out a couple sweets and handed them to over, a coconut bun and a honey nut danish in bright cellophane packaging. Hanzo made his selection quickly, a couple green tea buns and one filled with red bean paste before stiffly walking to the counter and paying for the food and drinks. His Japanese came easily, surprising him a little, and the cashier bid them goodnight as they left.

The night had grown darker still, lights from the streetlamps making golden pools on the street as the two walked back towards Hanamura castle. The archer drew slow breaths, counting them in his head to steady himself just like he was steadying his bow to aim. Ichi-ni-san-shi-go-

"You sure you're okay _amigo_?" The outlaw's voice was soft, just above a murmur that could be easily brushed off as unheard if Hanzo didn't reply.

He didn't.

\---

Dinner was a quiet affair, they sat on the large balcony off from the great hall as they slurped down their lukewarm ramen, listening to the cicadas buzz below them in the valley. The taller man fussed with his chopsticks, trying to grip them as Hanzo did and pluck a noodle from the broth to no avail. Hanzo eyed the fork sticking out of the plastic bag, it would be easier for McCree, but he didn't want the gunslinger to take offense.  After a moment McCree sighed, tucking the chopsticks between his metal palm and bowl, mumbling that he'd get it later before reaching for the fork.

"I could teach you how to use them," the shorter man offered, stalling McCree's hand, "If you wanted, if the fork is easier I won't-"

"That'd be nice," McCree smiled gently then pushed the bag out of the way before scooting over to the archer's side. Fork forgotten, He took his chopsticks in hand again and did his best to grip them. With nimble fingers the archer adjusted his grip, choosing to ignore the little flush that brushed over McCree's cheeks at his gentle touch for the sake of the cowboy's pride. 

"Now try opening them," Hanzo took up his bowl and chopsticks once more, clicking the ends together as an example. The gunslinger managed, the implements moving slow in his adjusted grasp, but he scooped up a pile of noodles and quickly bit down on them. With a slurp they vanished and the cowboy chuckled.

"For such an advanced society I'm surprised they kept these things around," He clicked the ends of the chopsticks together as best he could before delving into his bowl again. "Thanks Shimada,"

"You are welcome McCree," they sat in silence once more until McCree finished his bowl, he set it aside, licking the broth off his lips. Breeze played with his brown hair just as it did with the assasin's long bang. 

"You can talk to me Hanzo," The comment seemed to come out of nowhere, the archer shot the outlaw a confused look, "I mean at the combini," he said the word so oddly, drawl slurring the word into _come-bee-ni_ "And when you game me money for dinner, thank you for paying by the by," with a grunt he got his legs under himself and stood, bending down to pick up the empty bowls. "I'm not one to judge, and I can offer an ear if you wanna talk," The archer looked ahead once more, face a neutral mask. He meant the outburst, the look as sharp as broken glass in his grey eyes. He meant the fear that thrashed in his chest like an angered beast.

Hanzo chewed the inside of his cheek, listening intently as the cowboy padded across the polished boards to the door, counting the steps. the assassin stayed where he was, knelt with half his yukata tucked into his obi, staring ahead at the cracked banister that bordered the balcony.

"Please think on that," there was strain in his voice, honest worry edging his words. "G'night,"

Hanzo turned, drawing breath to ask the other man to stay, to listen, to help ease the load that had settled onto his shoulders as soon as he set foot into his old home. McCree was gone.

 


End file.
